The Other One Was Nancy
by Psychodelicate Girl
Summary: So Dickens more or less goes about introducing his beloved prostitute. Yet what do we know of her, before she waltzed into young Twist's life? Behold this, an account of the girl Nancy's life, from birth to tragic death.
1. Disclaimer

In no way, shape or form do I, Psychodelicate Girl, have any ownership over any part of Charles Dickens' second novel, _Oliver Twist_. I am not aware who is fortunate to be able to claim such possession, but I know enough to surmise it is not me.

This past December, I played Nancy in a straight production (i.e., without music [i.e., not _Oliver_!]) of _Oliver Twist_. The actor portraying Bill Sikes and I took our roles a little too seriously, and wrote backstories for our characters. That original one page has inspired me to expand on my created past for Dickens' beloved tart with a heart, in the form of this fanfiction. For that purpose, and that purpose alone, do I borrow elements from the novel _Oliver Twis_t.

To be sure I am not simply rehashing what other people have thought up before me, I have read and continue to read every scrap of _Oliver Twist_ fanfiction available on this website. I trust I am not stealing any work belonging to other authors, but I do and will appreciate hearing any concerns of such sorts. In return, I shall state at the end of each chapter which characters I have created for the purpose of this story, few though they may be.

Thank you. So sorry for the pretentious manner this disclaimer has been written in; it can only get better from here on out, I assure you.


	2. Treats Of The Place Where Nancy Was Born

It was difficult to say where the young woman had come from. Oh, she had come to the town from a northerly direction, certainly, and her voice was moderately cultured, to be sure. But there were no definite clues to her prior location readily available, and she seemed perfectly content to remain a mystery to the town's inhabitants. For their part, the people satisfied themselves with the one reason the girl could not conceal, the reason why she had sought out such a place, far from her own home.

To put it mildly, the young woman was with child.

The only person with any other possible insights into the girl's past, besides the girl herself, was the midwife, a Mrs. Reed. Hers was the door the youth had found herself slumped into, feeble from hunger and the cold autumn winds; and hers was the house the mother-to-be could even dare to consider home, in the polite - but otherwise hostile - town she had stumbled into. The midwife was her sole confidant amongst her new neighbors.

Unfortunately for the would-be gossips and eager listeners, Mrs. Reed kept all the lies the girl told her to herself. Yes, lies; she certainly could not have revealed the true circumstances that had lead up to the presence of the child in her belly. She kept her mouth shut around the townspeople, but felt a need to trade explanations for her room and board. Her husband was dead, lost at sea; his family had hated her, and thrown her out when he was gone; she had sold her wedding ring some miles back, in exchange for food and a blanket now curiously lost.

There was something in her mannerisms, her thin voice or her darting blue eyes, perhaps, that kept the midwife from believing her stories. She kept the girl, however, fed her and clothed her and scrutinized her womb, but definitely not because of her false backstory. The only thing Mrs. Reed believed to be true was the girl's name, which was Maryanne. Just Maryanne; the midwife had shushed the mother-to-be when her voice had faltered, in the attempt to come up with a false last name.

The young woman settled into her new life as comfortably as could be expected. She had a warm place to stay, and food to eat. Her days were spent cleaning the house, as she could not repay kindness any other way, and accompanying the midwife on her trips around the town, as the older woman could not repay work any other way. They were a queer pair, Mrs. Reed and Maryanne; their relationship could only be made queerer by the arrival of the girl's child.

It was an easy delivery, as far as winter deliveries go. If the mother had been any less fortunate, she would have perished long before, never mind the baby. But Mrs. Reed's skill was great, and Maryanne's living conditions equally great, so a very rare happening occurred: both mother and child survived.

When the child had been washed and swaddled, with her date of birth recorded in the midwife's ledger, the women found themselves with nothing to do but draw near the fire and chat over their knitting. Mrs. Reed may not have trusted her boarder's words on her past, but that in no way prevented her from enjoying social pleasantries.

"You did very well," the older woman said, blunt from an entire life of straightforwardness.

Her younger companion blushed, her needles clicking together awkwardly and earnestly. Shaking her head, she replied, "If anything at all was well, Mrs. Reed, it was due to you, and you alone. I thank you, from -"

"Maryanne," the midwife interrupted with a touch of goodnatured exasperation. "I've told you many a time, you can stop thanking me for things that are over and done with."

"My apologies, ma'am."

"S'all right, child."

They knitted in silence for a time, crafting tiny clothes for the tiny infant out of bits of wool. Their work brought a thought to Mrs. Reed. "You need to name her."

Glancing at her sleeping child, the mother nodded. "I know. I shall name her after my sister."

"Hmm." It did not escape the older woman that the girl had not spoken that name. No doubt she feared that by simply speaking about her spirits from the past, they might find her. "And a surname?"

Mrs. Reed's suspicion was proven by the look the girl gave her, panic and terror widening those pretty blue eyes. For all the pain in it, it was a lovely look, and it gave the woman insight into how such a girl could have gotten into such a state. After all, if she looked that bewitchingly alluring when in fear, just how beautiful might she look when in delight? No man would be able to keep their hands off her; at least had not been able, that was certain. It seemed cruel not to help her.

"I don't suppose you'd mind my surname?" she asked, carefully focusing on her knitting so as to avoid those enchanting eyes. "You've lived with me for all these months, it's as good an explanation as any. You being my niece, that is."

She looked up in time to watch the girl's expression change from worried to delighted. It was even more unnatural, how beautiful she looked. Yes, she was a regular classical beauty, with all the heartache and complications that implied. "Oh, thank you, Mrs. Reed! You will not regret this, I swear to you!"

"What have I said about thanking, child?" the midwife laughed, to hide her sense of unease. What had she gotten herself into?

Maryanne nodded, and jumped up to retrieve the baby. Glowing with maternal warmth, it was forgivable to observe how inexpert she was at cradling the youth; the stiffness in her arms gave her away. Like in her other pursuits, however, she made up for lack of skill with eagerness. They made a beautiful picture, Mrs. Reed observed, the mother and the child.

"Yes, that will do nicely," the girl murmured in her high voice, with a delicate yawn. "Nancy Reed it is, then, don't you think, my blessed precious?"

So the sister was Nancy, the older woman surmised, settling back down to her knitting. It was a piece of information she would be wise to keep in mind, just in case.

"Mrs. Reed?"

"Call me Aunt Reed, Maryanne dear."

"Of course," the new niece replied with a carefully carefree laugh. "Would you like to hold her? Nancy, that is."

The midwife gave a grunt to signified her approval, and the next moment found herself holding the child. Not nearly as prettily as her companion had, to be sure, but in a knowledgeable manner that excused her lack of grace. As a result of the transfer, the baby's eyes opened briefly, before she went back to sleep. It was enough time for Mrs. Reed to register the color of those eyes; as she had feared, they were blue, just like the mother's.

Oh, Nancy, she thought to herself as she rocked the child. Here's hoping you attract less trouble than your mother has.

-------------------

_Well, Mrs. Reed, don't think you're getting your wish._

_And we're off to a rollicking good start. I promise more action and story and Nancy is coming - perhaps not in the next chapter, but soon. Anyway, this is the spot where I'll blather on about things I find interesting enough to share with my readers. Skip it if you like, it won't affect your appreciation of the tale, and it's more for me than for you._

_Mrs. Reed, Maryanne, and Maryanne's sister Nancy are inventions of my own imagination._


End file.
